


When You Love Them And They Love You

by laschatzi



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 23:56:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4119232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laschatzi/pseuds/laschatzi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Emma's disappearance, Killian isn't anywhere to be found. Mary Margaret knows where to find him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You Love Them And They Love You

 

He was on deck, a rope wrapped around his hook, working it meticulously with his hand. Working was good; when he had to concentrate on the rigging, he didn't have to think, to remember. To _feel_.

 

Alas, it was an illusion, of course. Because – how could he not think of what had happened only a few hours ago? How could he not remember that dreadful moment when Emma had been enveloped by the greedy fingers of that terrible darkness that seemed to suck every life out of her eyes... her eyes that held his desperately until the very last moment before she simply vanished, leaving only the Dark One's dagger behind. _Her_ dagger. Because now, Emma Swan, his Swan, was the Dark One. And how on earth could he not hear her voice echo in his head – clearly, firmly uttering the words _I love you_? After the storm had subsided all of a sudden and a deadly silence had flooded the dark street, he'd stared at the dagger for one full minute before he'd just turned around and walked away.

 

How could he not feel like he'd been stabbed in his very heart? Not even when the bloody Crocodile – himself the dark One then – had held Killian's heart in his hand and squeezed it to finally kill him, he had felt that much pain.

 

“You're here?” he heard a female voice – _not Emma_ , his mind registered, _not important_ – call him from the pier.

 

He looked briefly over his shoulder and saw Emma's mother stand on the pier, her coat wrapped tightly around her to protect her against the chilly early morning wind that was tugging at her short dark hair.

 

“Where else would I be?” His voice sounded flat, lifeless. He turned his mechanical attention back to the ropes he was adjusting.

 

“What the hell are you doing here?!” the princess bandit snapped in that sometimes haughty way of hers. “Your family needs you!”

 

He froze for split second, but didn't look at her again. His jaw clenched, and he replied in a detached voice: “I don't have a family.” He resumed his work.

 

“You better not mean that!” Without further ado and without waiting for an invitation, Mary Margaret started to walk over the gangway leading on board of the _Jolly Roger_ ; her steps were firm. She walked over to him, downright ignoring that he obviously intended to ignore _her_ ; he heard she'd come aboard, but he didn't turn around to face her and stoically – _stubbornly_ – continued his work. She put her hands to her hips. “What is it even you're doing?” she demanded to know, her bossy-rebel-voice not allowing him to ignore her any longer. Bloody hell, the woman was already getting on his nerves.

 

With an annoyed huff, he turned around. “Why, what does it look like?” he growled.

 

Mary Margaret threw her hands in the air in exasperation. “How would I know?”

 

He rolled his eyes and rudely turned his back on her again. He really didn't need to see her red-brimmed eyes gleaming in her white, sleep-deprived face like a cat's eyes in the night. “I need to prepare the rigging and get her ready.”

 

“Ready for what?” Mary Margaret inquired with a frown; then she smelled a slight whiff of rum wavering her way, and her eyes popped open. “Have you been _drinking?!_ ”

 

“That's none of your concern, milady,” he retorted grimly.

 

She pressed her lips together for a moment and ignored his remark. “What do you prepare the ship for?” she firmly repeated her question.

 

“For the journey,” he replied, still not looking at her. “I have to go.”

 

“ _What?!_ ” With a strength that surprised him a little – although it shouldn't have – she grabbed his elbow and yanked him around, forcing him to face her. When he did, he almost backed off a little, taken aback by the blazing fury in her green eyes that reminded him so much of Emma's. “You think you can pull the same coward card you did last time and just _leave?_ Don't you _dare_ , pirate!” And she raised her right arm and slapped his face so hard that his head actually flew to the side.

 

“Bloody hell!” he cursed and rubbed his palm over his left cheek. “I don't...”

 

“Damn right!” she cut him off, her voice almost on the edge of shrillness now. “I'm giving you hell!” She slapped him again, but with less force this time; there was more despair in her touch, her beautiful face contorted in pain now. She clenched her hands to fists and jumped forward to attack him, yelling: “I'm not allowing you to--”

 

“Stop it, damn!” he barked back and caught her slender wrists roughly with his hand and his hook.

 

“Let _go_!” Mary Margaret shrieked in an almost hysterical voice and uselessly tried to wriggle free from his steely grip.

 

“ _You_ are giving me hell?!” he thundered, he himself shaking with rage and something darker now, his handsome face transformed into a fearsome mask. “Don't you know I am already there?!”

 

Suddenly, Mary Margaret's knees buckled, and her legs gave way, while she let out a pained cry. Killian let go of her wrists, and almost immediately she slumped down on the wooden deck like a sack of potatoes, burying her face in her hands, sobs shaking her body. With her breakdown, his own rage and all the adrenaline that had kept him on his two feet the whole night through seemed to be sucked from him, like Emma's disappearance had sucked all light from him, and all strength left him. He dropped to his knees with a heavy thump, his hand and his hook dangling uselessly at his sides, and all he could do was watch Emma's mother crumble in front of him, her shoulders trembling while she wept. He couldn't even muster enough strength to at least try to comfort her. But, as it turned out, it wasn't necessary; as sudden as her outburst had come, as sudden it was over. She straightened her shoulders and raised her head, fixing her gaze on him. Her eyes were red-brimmed, but her stare was full of resolution – and still angry. He seemed to look right through her, his eye somewhere lost.

 

“Hook,” she addressed him firmly and, when he didn't react, added not less firmly: “ _Killian._ ”

 

With some effort, his eyes focused on her face, and he saw the worry there, the fear so close to despair, the pain, but also the anger and grim determination; basically, he saw his own emotions mirrored on her face. She opened her mouth to say something, probably to admonish him further and tell him what a spineless bastard he was, and he couldn't even blame her – given what had happened after Pan's curse had hit, when he had just left the group of them after having stranded with them in the Enchanted Forest. He'd been too devastated to stick around back then; there had been a slight hope – or so he'd thought – that leaving them, gathering his crew, finding his ship and resuming his old life could ease his pain. Could allow him to forget the woman that had touched his heart like nobody had touched it in three hundred years, and perhaps never before. He'd soon learned that it had been an illusion; and now, of course, there wasn't the slightest chance for that. He would forget his own name before he could forget who Emma Swan was to him.

 

“Of course I'm not leaving,” he cut her off, and she shut her mouth again, tilting her head in surprise. “I have to find Emma,” he added.

 

A softness spread over Mary Margaret's features. “But not alone!” she told him, leaning a little forward. “What I said earlier – I meant it! Like it or not, you're a part of this family now. Emma's family.”

 

His jaw clenched, and the vein on his right temple thrummed a little. “You really think that?”

 

“I really think that,” she confirmed. “Do you really believe I'm not aware of what you did for this family?” He started to shake his head, but she went on: “I know you were the one to tell her not to push us away... me and David. You brought her back to us twice already. And when you helped her get back the third time, you even sacrificed your own life whereas we...” She averted her eyes for a moment and shook her head with a sigh.

 

“You were not yourself,” Killian offered.

 

Mary Margaret turned her eyes back at him. “No, but obviously _you_ were.”

 

He scratched behind his ear and could even smile a little, although it was one of those sad, pained smiles that barely reached his eyes. “We can't waste any time,” he then said and got to his feet in a quick, fluent move, holding his hand out to her.

 

She took it and let him help her to her feet. “And we won't!” she replied fiercely, not letting go of his hand. With her right, she reached for his hook and grabbed it firmly. “We're going to do the same for Emma as we did for Henry: we're going to go on a mission. We're going to find her, and we're going to bring her back. _Together_.”

 

Killian looked down at her fingers curled around his hook, like Emma's had many times. Once more, a wave of worry washed over him. But he nodded, and Mary Margaret continued: “And then you're gonna save her.”

 

His blue eyes flew up to her again. “What?”

 

She smiled. “I'm sure you're familiar with the concept of True Love's Kiss.” When she saw the raw emotion on his face, she said: “I didn't need to hear her words to know it.” He swallowed hard when he remembered the dreadful moment from the night before, the moment that would haunt him forever, no matter how this would end. The moment his Swan had finally mustered the courage to say the words to him, the three words he'd been craving to hear for so long; and he had been too paralyzed by his horror of what was about to happen to say them back. Mary Margaret sensed his torment and squeezed his hand. “And I surely don't need to hear _you_ say it,” she added softly. “And neither did Emma.”

 

Briefly, he squeezed her hand back and nodded curtly. “So, what now?” he asked.

 

Mary Margaret sensed that the moment of nearness was over; all the important things had been said, and it was time to get down to business. “Now,” she said, “you're coming with me. You'll have a shower and a breakfast that consists of other than liquid stuff. And then we start planning.” She raised her chin. “Are you ready for a rescue mission, Captain?”

 

He tilted his head in a nod. “Ready when you are, milady.”

 

She rolled her eyes. “You know, you could really start to call me Mary Margaret. Or Snow.”

 

“Frankly, _milady_ fits you just right,” he told her almost absentmindedly. “If you don't mind.”

 

Mary Margaret shook her head slowly, accepting it as what it was: not a sign of distance or rejection, but a sign of respect and fondness. “No, it's okay.” When she saw his gaze get lost in some dark place again, she put a determined hand on his arm. “Killian.” He focused his eyes on hers again and frowned in question. “You know what they say,” she remarked, “when you love them and they love you, they will always find you.”

 

Briefly, his eyes flickered with pain. “Who says that?” he asked suspiciously.

 

“I do,” she replied firmly, “and believe me, I should know.” She reached into her handbag and pulled out something that caused him almost physical pain to look at. The the ornately crafted silver blade gleamed viciously, the engraved letters forming Emma's name marking a dark, dark contrast to the shimmering metal. “I've lost her for the third time now,” Mary Margaret said, her voice thick with sorrow and took his hand, turning his palm upwards, to carefully place the Dark One's dagger on it. With her right hand, she closed Killian's fingers around the hilt. When he threw her a questioning look, she gave him an encouraging, barely perceptible nod and let her hands sink, leaving the dagger in his hand. “But this time,” she went on, “I have no doubt I will get her back.”

 

He swallowed hard, letting the meaning of her words sink in and slowly accepting it. Emma's mother trusted him; she left it in no doubt that she reckoned her daughter's fate as safe in his hand. That she accepted him as Emma's One True Love. _You're a part of this family now._ He was surprised to feel something of his self-confidence crawl back into his bones, something that was more than just the grim resolution that _of course_ he would find Emma and bring her back... something like hope.

 

He felt Mary Margaret's green eyes rest steadily on his face and allowed himself the tiniest smile; and it reached his eyes this time. Damn the princess bandit; despite her femininity, the fairest of them all had a will as strong as steel and the power to infect others with it. No wonder Snow White had been a leader. “Let's go,” he replied, “Emma needs her family.”

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
